


As Always

by cerasi



Category: Free!
Genre: Jealousy, Light Angst, M/M, MakoHaru Fest 2015, Misunderstandings, Post-Canon, Slow Build, University, emerging sexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-15 11:15:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3445055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cerasi/pseuds/cerasi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Haru wants is for things to stay the same. But Makoto is pulling away from him, and he doesn't know why.</p><p>Winner in Round 2 of <a href="http://theofficialmakoharufestival.tumblr.com/">The Official MakoHaru Festival 2015</a>, Theme: "Mounting Attraction"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was written for the Official MakoHaru Fest 2015, Round 2, Theme: "Mounting Attraction." My interpretation of this theme was to write a slow-build fic that got way longer than I expected it to! The festival post for Chapters 1 and 2 is [here](http://theofficialmakoharufestival.tumblr.com/post/112287833925/username-cerasi-nalamine-beta-no-round-number-2).
> 
> Quick disclaimer: This is a fic about Haru figuring out that he's not actually asexual/aromantic. I know that these are real and persistent states of being for many people, but that's not what's going on here.

They’re at the library in Makoto’s university when Haru first notices that the world has changed without his permission. The two of them don’t study together often, but Haru has gotten a mandatory reprieve from swimming for the week on account of a sore knee, so he’s here, watching Makoto prepare for a test, when a smiling female student walks straight up to their table and starts chatting with Makoto like they’re lifelong friends.

 _Mizuki_ , Makoto calls her.

Haru ducks his head and starts working on his statistics homework for the first time all afternoon, only mumbling his way through a perfunctory greeting when Makoto tries to pull him in with an introduction.

“Haru’s my friend from high school,” Makoto says, as Haru becomes fascinated with cleaning the spaces between the keys on his laptop. “He’s training to become a professional swimmer!”

 _Don’t tell her about me_ , Haru thinks, but it’s too late, Mizuki--Haru didn’t actually listen for her last name--is already exclaiming in fascination as Makoto smiles proudly and obliviously at him from across the desk.

“I’ll text you tonight about the dinner!” Mizuki says brightly, before she leaves. “See you!”

“She’s nice, isn’t she?” Makoto says, still smiling after her as she walks away.

Haru doesn’t let _all_ of his disagreeable thoughts out of his mouth, but he’s bored and already irritable from not being allowed to swim. “I don’t like her,” he says bluntly.

“Haru…” A familiar pang of low-level guilt hits him as Makoto’s smile falters. “Why would you say that? Mizuki’s my friend.”

Haru knows in theory that Makoto has made new friends--Makoto has told him about some of them, over dinner, probably even this one--but so far they’ve seemed unimportant, like a cast of faceless background characters from the cheerful montage that Haru imagines Makoto’s university life to be. He’s never thought about Makoto _liking_ them.

“She was too excitable,” Haru mutters, knowing how petty he sounds. “It seemed fake.”

“ _Haru_ ,” Makoto says again, a little mournfully. “Don’t say stuff like that, okay? Come on, maybe you need something to eat.”

Haru does actually need something to eat, but the grain of irritation that’s gotten under his skin is still there after Makoto takes him to the snack shop on campus and buys him a salmon onigiri.

It doesn't help that Makoto is _still_ talking about Mizuki. “I met her during orientation, but she’s in my Anatomy class now, too,” he's explaining. “She's got an amazing memory for all those vocabulary words, so she's been helping me out a lot.”

 _How does someone else's good memory help you?_ Haru doesn't ask.

“Anyhow, um--” Makoto scratches the back of his neck, looking a little sheepish. “I know this is silly, but she writes her name with the character for 'water,' so for some reason I thought maybe... you'd get along.”

Haru bristles and looks away. “That is silly.”

Makoto smiles, his perfectly guileless, self-effacing smile, and Haru feels his hackles go down a notch, despite himself.

Still, he can't imagine why Makoto would bother introducing him to this person. Being friendly with the swimmers at his own university, as Makoto keeps encouraging him to do, at least is practical. But for companionship beyond that, all he needs is Makoto. _And all Makoto needs is me_ , he thinks, even though he knows it isn't true.

Then he’s struck by another unwelcome thought. “Wait, are you going on a date? Is that why she’s being so friendly?”

Makoto's face turns a shade pinker. “No, nothing like that! The dinner is just--a bunch of us from the class are going out together, and she’s organizing it. It's just, you know, a social thing.”

“Oh.” He's relieved to hear that. The possibility of Makoto getting a girlfriend has always been a vague, looming threat to his usual way of life.

“I'm looking forward to it; we're going to some kind of pub,” Makoto is continuing. “I'm not sure if they'll actually serve me beer, though, since I'm underage.”

“Yeah,” Haru says, disinterested.

He feels Makoto's gaze on him, and he looks up. “Haru...” Makoto says. Then his face does something funny, and Haru doesn't like it. He's not very good at reading people, but it's never a problem with Makoto; it's always obvious to him what Makoto is thinking. Now, though, as he watches Makoto hesitate over his words, he doesn't have a clue.  ”I'm not trying to date Mizuki,” Makoto starts. “But, you know, I will… want to date someone. Eventually.”

Haru doesn’t get where this is going, but it seems like Makoto is waiting for some kind of answer from him. “I know that,” Haru says, a little tersely. He doesn’t like it, but he doesn’t expect to stop it from happening, either.

Makoto’s face changes again, just a flicker of something that Haru can’t catch before it’s replaced by his usual soft smile. “Okay,” Makoto says. Then, looking quickly at his watch: “Hey, come on, let's get back to the library. I have so much to _do_.”

 

*

 

Haru doesn't worry again about the world changing until a week later, when his swimming ban is finally lifted, and everything seems to be going right, for once. He comes close to his personal best in the 400-meter during morning practice, despite the break in training, and he feels genuinely pleased about it, and pleased about _being_ pleased.

All afternoon, he finds himself looking forward to the delighted smile he knows he'll get from Makoto, when he tells him at dinner. But when dinner comes, he ends up throwing everything off-course before he even gets a chance to mention it.

“I'm going to the beach with some people from my program this Saturday,” Makoto tells him, while they're waiting for their food. “One of the guys has a van, so we're taking a day trip.”

“Why?” Haru asks.

Makoto looks confused. “Because it's getting nice out, and it’ll be fun…?”

“But the beaches here are terrible,” Haru points out, reasonably. “The ones back in Iwatobi are much nicer.”

“We’re pretty far from Iwatobi now,” Makoto reminds him. “Plus, they invited me, and I want to get to know them better.”

Haru feels his mouth form a line, and he looks out the window to avoid meeting Makoto’s eyes. He knows rationally that it’s normal for Makoto to do these things, to have mundane university adventures without him, but he feels unsettled by it. The image of Makoto in his legskins on some tourist-filled, litter-covered city beach doesn’t help.

“Haru…” The gentleness in Makoto’s voice suddenly feels grating, condescending. “Are you upset because I’m going swimming without you? We might not even go in the water, you know. It’ll probably still be cold.”

“Do whatever you want,” Haru says sharply, before he can think better of it. “It just seems like a lot of trouble.”

“Haru,” Makoto says again, frowning.

That note of sadness is back in his voice, and Haru finally glances over at the sound of it. If he’s being honest, Haru wouldn’t say he pays a lot of attention to other people’s feelings, most of the time. But Makoto is different; he doesn’t like making Makoto sad, and he never _means_ to. Lately, though, it’s starting to feel like an inevitability, like he’s just fighting to swim upstream against the specter of Makoto’s disappointed face.

Makoto continues softly, “Haru, you’re still my best friend. You know that, right?”

Haru’s eyes flick down to the tabletop. “Of course.”

“But…”

Haru looks up. _But?_ There’s not supposed to be any qualifier there.

“I need to make other friends here, too,” Makoto says, quietly. “We both need to.” He sounds almost regretful when he adds, “We can’t always be like this.”

 _Like what?_ Haru wonders. Things are different now, he knows that, but they’re _already_ different; he already only sees Makoto once or twice a week. They chat online now, too, but that’s just to fill in the empty spaces where Makoto used to be in person.

He doesn’t say anything, and Makoto sighs. “I just think… maybe we need to focus a little more on our own lives, for a while.”

Haru can’t respond. Makoto is being gentle, as always, but Haru hears what he’s saying, and he doesn’t understand it; he feels numb and confused. This is _Makoto_ , the person who nearly cried with happiness when Haru decided to come to Tokyo, who told him just seconds ago that they’re still best friends. How can Makoto be pulling away from him now, when they’re already further apart than they’ve ever been?

He thinks Makoto might be about to say something else when they’re interrupted by their food arriving. “Curry udon,” the waitress says, smiling as she places it in front of Makoto. “And saba miso.”

Haru stares down at his mackerel, suddenly self-conscious at his predictable choice. “You don’t even like udon,” he says, slowly.

In his peripheral vision, Makoto attempts a smile. “I’m trying new things.”

Haru stabs at his meal, and he forgets to tell Makoto about his swimming time.

 

*

 

Makoto tried to smooth things over conversationally at dinner that night, but he didn't take back what he said, and he didn't come online that weekend at all.

But on Monday, he sends Haru a video of a baby otter learning to swim, and Haru thinks it might be an apology.

 _'Cute_ ,' he writes back, indulgently.

Makoto replies with a ‘ _^_^_ ,’ and for a second Haru finds himself smiling at his screen, imagining Makoto's usual overwhelmed-by-cute-animals face.

But his smile vanishes at Makoto's next message.

_'Haru, I'm sorry, I can't do dinner this week.'_

Haru's stomach curls into a knot. So he wasn't imagining it; Makoto really is pulling away. Friday night dinners have become their tradition, these past months, the one thing Haru can rely on in this new place.

 _'Why not?'_ he asks, his hands unsteady on the keys.

There's a pause, and then what feels like an unnecessarily long interlude of the indicator that Makoto is typing, before:

_'I have to go to a review session. I have a big test coming up.'_

Haru frowns at that. Makoto doesn't often go to review sessions; he prefers to go through material at his own pace.

 _'Why don't you see if any of your classmates want to go out?'_ Makoto suggests next. ' _I bet you'll get invited to something if you ask around!'_

For as well as Makoto knows him, Haru has started to wonder recently if Makoto pictures him as being another person entirely, someone who would actually ask around about other people's evening plans.

“...,” he types.

' _Haha_ ,' Makoto says. ' _Anyhow, I have to go to class now. See you next week, okay?'_

He signs off, and Haru is left feeling confused but slightly mollified. At least Makoto isn’t canceling next week, too.

He frowns and scrolls up to re-read the handful of messages. _Is this about_ me _making friends?_ he wonders, when he gets to Makoto's suggestion. Makoto does stuff like that--worries about him, tries to give him space to do the things he needs to, on his own. Haru feels some of the weight lift off his heart as he considers it. Makoto doesn't _want_ to spend less time with him, but he feels like he _should_ , for Haru's sake.

 _That's not right, Makoto_ , he thinks. _What I need the most is for you to be the same._ But he can understand Makoto's reasoning, and there's probably a grain of truth to it. Maybe he does need to socialize with more people.

He steels his resolve, then, and tells himself that he'll try a little harder to make Makoto's efforts worthwhile.

 

*

 

He makes a point all week of making friendlier-than-usual faces at the other swimmers and some of the people he recognizes from his classes, and on Thursday, it finally pays off.

“Hey, Nanase,” says the recipient of one of his half-smiles, as he’s heading out of the locker room. It’s an upperclassman, someone Haru recognizes as being a member of the university swim team, but not on the professional track. Haru is probably supposed to know his name, but he doesn’t.

“Good morning,” he says instead.

The guy grins, like he didn’t expect Haru to remember. “Hey, are you coming tomorrow?” he asks.

“Where?”

“Some of the guys from the team are going out,” he says. “Drinks, maybe karaoke. No one told you?”

Haru looks away. _This is what I was talking about_ , he hears Makoto’s voice say in his head. He's wary of alcohol, and he distinctly dislikes karaoke, but he can do this, he decides. He can do it for Makoto. “I didn’t hear,” he says, as politely as he can. “Can I join?”

“Yeah,” the guy says, sounding a little surprised. “Of course you can.” He tells Haru the place and time, and Haru leaves feeling better than he has all week, like he's accomplished something.

He doesn't tell Makoto about his plans, partly because Makoto doesn't come online that night, and partly because he wants it to be a surprise, something he can tell Makoto about once it's actually gone well.

When Friday comes, he has a class in the afternoon, followed by an individual training session with his coach at the university pool. He doesn’t have quite enough time after practice to stop by his apartment for food, so he ends up catching the subway early, wandering around in the evening light in the neighborhood where the bar is.

It’s close to Makoto’s university, and he eventually comes to a street he recognizes from some of their weekly dinners. _I think you were right, Makoto_ , he thinks to himself as he walks. _Maybe I just needed a push_. After all, even if he’d gotten the invitation for tonight, he would have turned it down if he’d still had plans with Makoto.

He feels calm now; his earlier fears about Makoto wanting to distance himself from their friendship seem foolish. This was all Makoto wanted. This is all he ever wants, for Haru to be happy. Haru feels his lips form into a tiny smile, at that thought.

He still has some time before the event starts, but he’s hungry now. He’s trying to decide what to get to eat when he sees a sign he recognizes. It’s a small Indian restaurant; Makoto tried to convince him to check it out the other week, but he’d refused after seeing that they didn’t have any seafood, not even shrimp. Honestly, seafood sounds best to him now, too--seafood _always_ sounds best to him--but he’s thinking about _trying new things_ , and Makoto, and he feels like maybe this is the right moment to branch out.

But when he gets to the restaurant, what he sees through the window makes his world fall apart, right there, careening out of orbit and exploding into pieces all at once.

Makoto is there, at a table near the window, and there’s another guy with him. A guy who is _not Haru_ , and yet Makoto is sitting there, _smiling_ at him, his eyes crinkling like they do for Haru at the end of the week. _That’s supposed to be me,_ Haru thinks, numbly. _I should be with Makoto._

He’s standing right in front of the door, but he can’t move. His stomach has bottomed out like he’s in freefall, and he feels like he might be sick; any second now, Makoto could glance out the window and see him, but he’s not, he’s not even _looking_ \--

Haru gasps for breath and wrenches his gaze away, and then he’s running away, blindly, as fast as his legs can carry him.

He’s three train stops away from his neighborhood, but he doesn’t stop until he’s in front of his his apartment. He gasps for breath and bends to rest his hands on his aching thighs. His mind is still flooded with a jumble of confused emotions, but one singular thought has been distilled over the course of his run, echoing cruelly again and again: _Makoto lied to me_.

Without the rhythm of his footfalls to distract him, the words hit him hard this time, and he feels his throat swell with the threat of tears. _Stop it_ , he tells himself, harshly. _Just stop. Get home first_.

He stumbles the rest of the way to his apartment complex, up the steps, through his mercifully unlocked door and straight into his bathroom. He turns the sink on, cold, and drinks from his cupped hand before splashing some water onto his overheated face. The wetness on his skin seems to trigger some sympathetic response, and finally there are tears prickling his eyes, not quite spilling over as he stares at the drain.

He stands there for a long moment, his mind weirdly, utterly blank. _Tonight wasn't supposed to be like this,_ he thinks, finally, and it's not until that moment that he remembers: he had plans, he's supposed to be meeting the other swimmers tonight. But that thought just reminds him of the only reason he made those plans, the only reason he was out tonight at all. _Makoto._ He was doing all of this for Makoto.

 _Maybe he only lied to help me_. He realizes with growing nausea, though, that that reasoning, that this was all about Makoto helping him make friends, was his own invention in the first place. _We can't always be like this_ , that was what Makoto said. Makoto was the one who wanted to make things different, who looked at him with those disappointed eyes when Haru questioned his new friends.

His looks up at the mirror above the sink, then, and meets his own blue eyes. They're glossy and rimmed with red, and yet cold, still as cold and hard as everyone says.

 _I did this_ , he finally realizes. _This is my fault._ It has to be; Makoto would never act like this without cause. He's never lied to Haru, _never_ , in all the years they've been friends. Haru must have done something to make him resort to this. _What did I do, Makoto?_ he wonders, staring at his reflection. But even the thought makes him queasy; he can’t face it.

Instead, he flees to his room and curls up in his bed for the rest of the night, his mind forced back into blankness and his empty stomach churning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting two chapters at once! Continue on for Chapter 2.


	2. Chapter 2

He avoids his computer the next day and throws himself instead into a hard day of swimming, all thoughts of Makoto pushed carefully out of his mind. But on Sunday evening, when he logs on in the evening and sees Makoto there, he decides he can’t bury this; he has to face it.

 _‘Did I do something wrong?’_ he types. He hits ‘send’ before he can talk himself out of it.

After a moment, there’s a reply. ‘ _?_ , _’_ Makoto writes, and then, ‘ _No… what?’_

Haru feels a momentary flash of relief, but it dissipates when the image of Makoto sitting in that restaurant comes back to him. If lying to him is something Makoto can do, now, how can he believe anything?

He feels like he should ask Makoto for an explanation, but he can’t make himself do it. Maybe he doesn’t want to hurt Makoto with a confrontation, even now. He chews on his lip and hesitates over the keys, feeling worse with every moment that Makoto is silent. _Tell me, then_ , he thinks. _Tell me that it was some kind of mistake_. But there’s nothing else.

Emotion surges in his chest, then, and it’s almost on the verge of pouring out; he can feel the words in his fingers: _I want you to be my best friend still, I don’t want things to change_.

But before he can start typing, the window flashes with a new message: _‘I have to go, Haru, sorry. Talk to you later?’_

And then he’s gone. Haru’s stomach feels full of ice.

It doesn’t actually make any sense, even considering the possibility that he’s done something horribly wrong. Makoto doesn’t _do_ things like this. Makoto is always the one checking in on him, paying attention to his feelings. If that’s gone, then Haru doesn’t know what he has left.

He sits for another moment, just staring at the chat window in thought. But as much as he turns it over in his head, he can’t make sense of it. Makoto is normally the one he relies on to smooth over all his mistakes and make sure people don’t turn against him; it doesn’t seem fair that he has to figure it out on his own.

Then he takes a deep breath and considers. Maybe he doesn’t have to do it on his own. That’s something he learned last year, after all--he has friends who care about him, who would be happy to help him through anything, and just because he’s not with them anymore doesn’t mean they’re not still there.

He thinks of Rin first, but the thought of asking Rin for help with Makoto is almost laughable; as if Rin understands how Makoto thinks. The next option is Nagisa, who would certainly be sympathetic, but perhaps not much help either. He’d probably go straight to Makoto in search of a simple answer, and that thought makes Haru’s stomach twist even more, because what if there isn’t one? Nagisa would pout at that idea and insist that everything must be okay, but Haru has a feeling deep in his gut that it isn’t.

And that leaves Rei, the only other person that Haru would consider a friend. Rei is… well, not his best friend, not even really his second- or third-best friend. But he is logical, and he probably has some theoretical understanding of human behavior that could be applicable here. The thought of Rei offering a formula to explain what Haru needs to do is oddly soothing.

He pulls up Rei's email address from a good-luck-at-university note Rei sent him at the beginning of the year and writes:

' _I need your help. Can we talk?'_

He debates adding more to the message, but in the end he sends it as it is, without even his name.

It's a few hours later when he hears a buzzing on his desk. He's gotten a little better about his phone lately, since Makoto sometimes calls him when they're meeting up, but the sound of it is still jarring and strange. As he picks it up, there's a moment of faint hope in his heart that it might be Makoto, but it's an unfamiliar number.

“Hello?” he answers.

“Haruka-senpai!” It's Rei's voice, high-pitched with anxiety. “Is everything alright?”

Haru doesn't know how to respond to that. “I'm okay,” he finally says. “I didn't know you had my number.”

“I had to get it from Nagisa,” Rei explains. “I hadn't heard from you in months, and then your email--and then you weren't responding--”

Haru glances over at his laptop, which is sitting closed on his desk. “I didn't check,” he says, mildly. “Sorry.”

“Well--it's alright,” Rei says, relief evident in his voice. “It's just been so long since we've heard anything from you, I didn't know what to think!”

Haru doesn't think two months is really such a long time, but he doesn't say that.

“Anyhow, did you need my help with something?” Rei asks.

Now that he’s about to say it, it seems foolish to ask about something like this. But Rei is waiting for him to talk, so he starts, “I was hoping you could give me… advice about a friend.”

He can picture Rei blinking at him from behind those garish glasses. “A friend?”

“...Makoto,” Haru clarifies, softly.

“Makoto-senpai?” Rei sounds even more confused. “What kind of advice? Is he alright?”

Haru doesn’t know how to answer that question, either. “I guess,” he says. He takes a deep breath, collecting himself. “I think I did something to upset him,” he explains slowly. “But I don’t know. And I thought maybe…  you could help me figure it out.”

There’s a shuffling noise on the other end, and the sound of a door closing, like Rei is getting somewhere quiet. “Of course I’m happy to help, Haruka-senpai,” he says earnestly, like it’s an honor being bestowed on him. “But you’ll have to pardon my confusion; I would have thought you’d understand Makoto-senpai better than anyone.”

“I thought so, too,” Haru nearly whispers. “But he won’t even tell me he’s upset.”

“Hmm,” Rei says, seeming to weigh this piece of information. “What evidence do you have that he _is_ upset, then?”

“He’s been acting strange,” Haru says. “He told me we need to spend less time together. And…” he trails off, not wanting to put to words the last part, the crucial piece of evidence. But he has to; he needs Rei’s help. “He lied to me,” Haru mumbles softly.

“Makoto-senpai?” Rei asks, sounding appropriately incredulous. “About what? Could it have just been to avoid hurting your feelings?”

Haru shakes his head, pressing the phone to his ear. “He canceled our dinner,” he explains, numbly, “because he said he had to be at a review session. But it wasn’t true.”

“How do you know?” Rei prompts gently.

“I saw him,” Haru says, and the queasiness hits him again, still fresh. “He was having dinner with another guy, instead of me.”

Rei makes another soft _hmm_ noise and is silent for a long moment.

Haru isn’t sure, now that he’s explained his situation, what he really thinks Rei will be able to say about it. He's expecting more probing questions, or maybe the beginnings of a lecture on social contracts. He's not at all expecting what Rei actually says next.

“Haruka-senpai… Is it possible that Makoto-senpai was on a date?”

Haru blinks. “It was a _guy_ ,” he reiterates.

There’s a moment of delicate silence. Then Rei’s voice, a little flustered: “Well, you’re aware--that both people being male doesn’t _eliminate_ the possibility…”

“I know that,” Haru cuts him off, because no, he’s not stupid, he gets what Rei is saying. But this is _Makoto_.

“So… you don’t think…”

“Of course not,” Haru says, a little hotly.

“Hmm,” Rei says. Then, slowly, “I apologize, but I must ask... Has Makoto-senpai ever said anything to you that would indicate an--an _interest_ in women?”

Haru doesn’t speak for a moment. The answer, if he thinks about it, is no--to Haru’s mild relief, Makoto has always stayed silent on the topic of romance, listening to whatever stories their classmates told about crushes and confessions without ever jumping in with his own. But Haru has always assumed, maybe without realizing it, that Makoto has acted this way out of consideration for Haru’s feelings, knowing that Haru has never had shared the usual interest in those topics. He’s never thought that Makoto would stray from the obvious path. Since they were young, Haru has had a mental image of a grown-up Makoto with a pretty, smiling wife and two kids, whose faces became blurred with those of Ren and Ran once they were born. He’s thought about that image often, usually to wonder if Makoto will still have time for him when it comes true. For the first time, he considers the fact that it’s always only been in his head.

“Haruka-senpai?” Rei asks, tentatively.

He’s shaken back into the moment, still confused by the possible reality Rei is suggesting. “Do you think that could be true?” he asks. “That Makoto…” he trails off; it sounds too bizarre to say.

Rei hesitates. “It’s… a possibility I’ve considered before,” he finally says.

Haru is taken aback; he can’t figure out how to respond.

“Not that I have any basis to know, of course; this is merely speculation!” Rei adds quickly. “But--yes, I think it’s possible. And it might explain the circumstances you described.”

Haru thinks about that. Two people meeting under secretive conditions at a restaurant--yes, it would make a degree of sense, from what Haru understands of such things. But would it explain why Makoto wasn’t honest with him?

“I guess… he could have been embarrassed,” he thinks out loud, his voice still skeptical. “If it was that.”

“Y-yes, perhaps,” Rei agrees.

If Makoto did want to date guys, would he think Haru would be upset by it? Haru has no idea; the whole thing still doesn’t compute in his brain.

“Haruka-senpai, if you’ll allow me to make a suggestion… I think you should ask him,” Rei offers, into the silence. “He may be telling the truth about not being upset with you, and I wouldn’t want you to feel bad unnecessarily.”

Haru swallows; the kind tone of Rei’s words seems to sink into him, calming his frazzled nerves. It’s probably good advice. “Thanks,” he says, quietly.

“Of course,” Rei says. “You can call me any time, you know. We miss both of you.”

Haru just nods, not caring that Rei can’t see him. “Okay,” he says. “I should go.”

He hangs up over Rei’s goodbyes, then lies back on his bed and stares up at the ceiling, wondering how everything in his life stopped making sense at once. _Just be the same, Makoto_ , he thinks. But one way or another, the world has gotten distorted, and it's probably too late for it ever to go back to how it was.

 

*

 

He takes Rei's advice to heart, and he means to follow it. But when he goes to open his laptop the next day, the notion of confronting Makoto seems no more palatable than it did before Rei put this ridiculous theory in his head.

If he's wrong, it'll hurt the same as before. And if he's right...

A weird feeling rolls through his stomach. He hesitates, then pulls his hand away, leaving the laptop closed.

He hasn't given any direct thought to what Rei suggested, but the shadow of it has been looming in the edges of his vision all morning, just out of view. _What does it matter?_ he asks himself. Either way, the result is the same: Makoto will eventually be with someone whose companionship will mean something more to him than Haru's does.

But it does seem _weirder_ if that person is male; it's less obvious what Makoto would gain, emotionally, that he doesn't already have.

 _Physically, maybe,_ Haru thinks, but he pushes that distasteful thought away as soon as he has it. Trying to comprehend other people's romantic desires is difficult enough, but at least he knows the basic outline of how that’s supposed to go from books and movies. On the physical side, though...

Well, it's not a _complete_ mystery. He understands physical needs; he has his own, and he relieves them the way most people do. But he’s never had the urge to involve other people in that process, and he's known for years that that isn’t normal.

 _“You're supposed to think about_ girls, _Haru-chan,”_ Kisumi told him once, in middle school. “ _Not_ swimming, _what the_ hell! _”_

It's an embarrassing memory; he can still remember the way his face burned at the laughter of their classmates, of Kisumi's friends. It wasn't even exactly true, what he said--it's not _swimming_ that he thinks about, but the feeling of being in water, the movement of it on his skin.

He tried thinking about girls, after that day, but it didn't work out.

 _Does Makoto think about guys?_ The thought slips into his mind unbidden, and it brings a strange blush to his cheeks. That's not the sort of thing he should think about; and besides, the whole thing probably isn't even true. He should just ask, and at least put an end to some of the confusion plaguing him.

But he leaves the laptop where it is, and goes to the computer lab on campus to do his homework instead.

 

*

 

He doesn’t consciously decide to avoid the situation, but he does; he spends the next few days offline, putting in unprecedented hours on his assigned reading and spending so much time in the pool that his coach gives him a lecture about overtraining, when he finds Haru swimming endless laps late Thursday afternoon.

“I just wanted to be in the water,” Haru mumbles, but he feels more guilty about it than he would have once.

“Your knee just got back to normal, and the university championship is in 3 months,” his coach says, sternly. “You might not have time to recover if you turn it into a serious injury now.”

Haru has a hard time caring about the national university championship--Rin’s not even going to be there; it’s minor in the larger scheme of things--but he knows well enough that it _does_ matter, that it’s another step on the path to what he wants.

So he goes home and takes a shower instead, and then a bath. It’s not the same, though. It was one thing, when this was all he had, but now that he spends half his life in an Olympic-size pool, his little bathtub seems almost claustrophobic. It’s easier, too, when he’s in motion, to let his thoughts flow, gathering together and pulling apart until they coalesce into some sort of subconscious decision. Here, staring at his tiles, he’s forced to confront the pit in his stomach head-on: he still hasn’t talked to Makoto.

He sighs and slides deeper into the water, submerging his head. It’s a temporary fix, but the anticipation of his next breath is enough to keep his mind quiet a little longer. He idly counts the seconds, getting to a minute and a half before his lungs really start to burn. He wonders distantly if he should ask his coach about training like this. Some swimmers shave off nanoseconds of time by reducing the frequency of their breaths, but he’s never tried; breathing while swimming has always just been a natural act to him. He closes his eyes and tells himself to just try pushing it another 5 seconds… 4 seconds… 3 seconds…

But he’s human, after all, and his survival instinct has him pushing himself up out of the water before the time is up, gasping for breath. He lowers his forehead to his knees and breathes slowly as he waits for his head to stop spinning.

Then he frowns. His blood is pounding in his ears, but it’s overlaid with another sound, a distant knocking that he doesn’t think is coming from inside his head. And then there’s another sound to join it.

“Haru?” Makoto’s familiar voice outside the bathroom door has Haru’s heart racing back up to full speed in an instant. What is Makoto doing here? “Haru, are you in there?” Haru’s voice is stuck in his throat, and before he can loosen it, Makoto is continuing, “If you’re there, I’m coming in…”

He can’t react before the doorknob turns, and Makoto’s face appears in the gap. “Oh--!” Makoto exclaims, as their eyes meet. “I--I’m sorry, Haru, I wasn’t sure… I’ll just… let you…” His face is pink as he closes the door, staying outside.

Haru frowns. Since when does Makoto get embarrassed about walking in on him in the bath? He’s a little flustered himself, but only because he wasn’t expecting Makoto to show up here unannounced. He pulls himself up out of the tub, a little begrudgingly, and towels off. He’s not wearing his jammers; is that it? Admittedly, that habit started in part because of how often Makoto shows up in his bathroom, but he never really thought it mattered much either way.

When he steps out of the bathroom, dressed in a clean t-shirt and shorts, Makoto is sitting primly by the low table in his living room.

“Sorry, Haru,” he says again, before Haru can even speak. “I wasn't sure if you were home, and I was just surprised...”

“It's fine,” Haru says, because of course it is. “Why are you here, though?”

Makoto's eyes flick downward, betraying something like... guilt? “I was worried about you,” he says. “Your phone was off, and you weren't online or answering any of my emails...”

Haru frowns and goes to pick up his phone from the table, where he left it when he came in. He's been carrying it with him, just in case, but he realizes now that it's not turning on. “I must have forgotten to charge it,” he mumbles. “Sorry, Makoto.”

“It's okay,” Makoto says, smiling. “I'm just glad you're alright.” The earnest relief in his eyes sends warmth rushing into Haru's chest. Maybe things haven't changed that badly. At least Makoto still cares enough to show up in his apartment like this, and that has to count for something, right?

“Do you want something to drink?” is all he says, turning toward the kitchenette.

“Um. Maybe some water?”

Haru goes to the refrigerator and pours water for both of them, to put off conversation more than anything.

“Thanks,” Makoto says, smiling again as Haru places the glass in front of him. It's not as good a smile as before, though; there’s something off about it. “Hey,” he says, as Haru sits down across from him, “is everything… okay?”

This is Haru’s cue, but he can’t make himself respond to it. He sips at his water instead, staring down at the movement on its surface.

When a moment of silence has passed, Makoto presses on, “You sent me that message, the other day…”

“Yeah.”

“What's going on, Haru?” Makoto's eyes are sad, downcast.

Haru doesn’t understand anything; why Makoto won't meet his eyes, why Makoto is acting like he doesn't know why Haru could be unhappy. _You told me we can't be like this anymore._

Well, there's still one thing he can ask. “Were you on a date?” It comes out blunt, accusatory, and despite his own lingering anger and confusion, he hates the way it makes Makoto's face go pale.

“H-Haru,” Makoto stammers, “how… what did you…?”

“I saw you,” Haru says. “Last Friday.” He feels awful; he suddenly doesn’t want to know, doesn’t want to be having this conversation at all, ever. But it’s too late to take it back, now, and he might as well get it all out. “You weren’t at a review session,” he finishes, quietly.

“Haru,” Makoto breathes. The whiteness of his face has been replaced by a terrible blush that stains his skin from his forehead to his neck. “I’m so sorry, Haru, I shouldn’t have--I didn’t know…”

“That I’d find out?” Haru finishes, flatly. He doesn’t even feel mad anymore, just exhausted, but he can’t stop himself from twisting the knife with those words.

“I was going to tell you,” Makoto says. His voice is small and miserable. “I should have told you the truth in the first place, but I just--I’m sorry.”

 _You haven’t even answered my question_ , Haru thinks, except that Makoto hasn’t denied what he said, either. “You were with a guy,” he ventures.

Makoto turns a deeper shade of red, and at last, for once, Haru can read exactly what his reaction means. Rei was _right_. His stomach drops strangely.

“He… he asked me out,” Makoto says, and he’s definitely not meeting Haru’s eyes now. “I guess I never… told you that I…”

“No,” Haru says, numbly.

“Haru, it doesn’t… you’re not… upset about _that_ , are you?”

He feels like he’s not supposed to be, but the truth is that he does feel upset, at least as upset as he did when he thought Makoto stood him up for another friend. What difference does it make if it was a date? And if it was a date, then does that mean that this is it, the way things will be from now on? The thought makes him feel sick.

“Are you going out with him again?” It’s not what he means to say, but it’s what he wants to know, suddenly _needs_ to know.

“...No,” Makoto says softly. “I don’t think so. It didn’t really work out.”

“Good.” The word is out of his mouth, quiet and harsh, before he can stop it, and it’s Makoto’s turn to look sick.

“Haru?”

“It doesn’t matter that it’s a guy,” Haru adds, tersely. He means for it to soften what he said, but he doesn’t think it comes out right.

“Then--then why would you say that?” Makoto looks like he’s staring at a ghost: he’s back to being pale, and his eyes are wide and glossy.

Haru doesn’t know what to say; he knows it was a mistake, but he finds himself unwilling to take it back. He _is_ glad.

“Haru,” Makoto almost whispers, in response to his silence. “Don’t you want me to be happy?”

Something grips at Haru’s chest, then, and he’s raising his voice before he can calm the sudden surge of emotion into his throat. “I thought you were _already_ happy!”

“Haru…” Makoto’s voice is choked, awful, like he’s going to cry. “We talked about this. You said you knew--”

“That doesn’t mean it’s okay,” Haru snaps. There’s a terrible, dark feeling inside him. He doesn’t know where these words are coming from; he’s never felt like this, never allowed himself to think the things that are pouring out of him now. “Everything was okay the way it was before, with just our friends. With just me.”

Makoto doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Then he takes a deep breath, and the glossiness in his eyes recedes, replaced by something heavy and resolute. “You can’t say things like that, Haru,” he says quietly. “You can’t act like--like you’re _jealous_ , like this, okay? It’s not fair.”

 _Jealous_. The word sinks into him and spreads, laying claim to the nameless darkness he feels. Is that what this is? And if so, why wouldn’t he have the right to it, when Makoto has been his for so long? “Why not?” he asks, his voice dry and creaky.

Makoto seems speechless again. Finally, he says, “Because we’re not dating, Haru. You’re my best friend, but… you can’t be _that_ for me; I know that.”

The feeling in Haru’s chest turns, then, from jealousy into anger. Makoto has never called him out on the way he is. It’s not his fault, and if he could be different, he’d make sure Makoto never went on a date with anyone but him again. He’s never had that thought before, either, but it’s there now, sitting certain in his chest: he _would_ date Makoto, if he could, if Makoto didn’t want things he doesn’t know how to provide. He barely even knows what those things are, and that makes him feel worse--isn’t he doing enough, already? Aren’t they already as close as any couple?

There’s a rash impulse inside him, then, an urge to do something that he knows, in the back of his mind, is crazy. But when Makoto looks up at him, looks so pitying and regretful, Haru’s restraint snaps.

“Is this all you want?” He throws himself forward across the table, splaying his hands on its surface, and kisses Makoto right on the mouth.

Makoto gasps and freezes. Their dry lips are pressed together awkwardly, and it’s as bizarre as Haru has always imagined, being this close to another person’s face. He can feel Makoto trembling as he pulls away.

“Haru,” Makoto whispers, and as soon as Haru looks at him, he knows he’s made a mistake. Makoto’s eyes are huge, and he looks stricken, _shocked_. “What…why did… _Haru_.”

“You’re right,” Haru mutters, keeping his eyes trained remorsefully on the table as he sits back down. “I don’t know anything about that.”

Makoto makes a tiny noise, and then he’s standing, stumbling away. “I have to go, Haru,” he says. He sounds a little breathless. “I… I don’t think I can do dinner tomorrow. I’m sorry, okay? I--I’m sorry.”

And then he’s gone, the door slamming shut behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The remaining chapters will be up before the end of the festival on March 14th. :) 
> 
> I greatly appreciate feedback! Talk to me in the comments, at cerasi-nalamine.tumblr.com, or on twitter @cerasi_n. You can also vote for this fic by liking/reblogging the official fest submission [here](http://theofficialmakoharufestival.tumblr.com/post/112287833925/username-cerasi-nalamine-beta-no-round-number-2).


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a warning, there is some mature/nsfw content in this chapter.

It’s close to midnight when Haru finally thinks to plug in his phone to charge it, on the off chance that Makoto has decided to speak to him again.

_You idiot_ , he tells himself. _Why did you do that?_

He braces himself as the phone goes through its start-up cycle, but the only notification is for three missed calls from a number he’s pretty sure belongs to Rei, of all people. He frowns, hesitates, and then hits the button to return the call.

He’s not prepared for the voice that greets him.

“HARU-CHAN!”

He pulls the phone away from his ear, wincing. “Nagisa?”

“Haru-chaaaaan,” Nagisa sings.

“...Are you using Rei’s phone?”

There’s a pause, and then Rei’s voice: “Haruka-senpai, I--I’m so sorry for this; Nagisa has _commandeered_ my phone, and--”

“Haru-chan, what did you _do?_ ” Nagisa demands, cutting him off. “Mako-chan said--”

“I’m sorry, Haruka-senpai, Nagisa won’t let me--”

“Haru--!”

“Nagisa, let _go!_ ”

Haru frowns at the phone. “Can you just put it on speaker?”

Another pause, with some whispered shouting in the background, and then Rei again:

“Haruka-senpai, I am _so sorry_.”

“I’m not sorry, Haru-chan!” Nagisa chimes in. “What did you _do_ to Mako-chan?”

Haru’s stomach twists. “What?”

“He told me not to ask you about it,” Nagisa says, “but how could I _not_?”

“ _Nagisa_ ,” he hears Rei hiss in the background. “This is _improper_.”

Haru sits down on the edge of his bed and lowers his elbows to the tops of his knees, keeping the phone pressed to his ear. “What did he say?”

“He wouldn’t even tell me what _happened_ ,” Nagisa whines. “He just called me and said he needed to talk to someone, so I sent him some cute cat videos and we watched those together for a while, but eventually he let on that this had something to do with you, only Mako-chan is _never_ upset with you, Haru-chan, right?”

Haru can’t answer; it’s too painful to think about Makoto being hurt because of him, because he was so stupid and rash and _thoughtless_.

“Anyhow,” Nagisa is continuing, “then I came over to hang out with Rei-chan, and he said you thought Mako-chan was mad at you the other day--”

“I’m sorry, Haruka-senpai,” Rei interjects again, “I shouldn’t have--”

“And I just needed to know--”

“Nagisa _forced it out of me_ \--”

“I did _not--_!”

Haru sighs, tired of this increasingly petulant back-and-forth. “I kissed Makoto,” he says flatly, interrupting them both.

There’s silence, finally. Then Nagisa’s voice, aghast: “Wait, you did _what?_ ”

“Haruka-senpai!” Rei gasps, for once sounding like he’s in perfect agreement with Nagisa. “That--that is a surprise, to say the very least--”

“No freaking _way_ ,” Nagisa says, less eloquently. “ _Seriously?_ ”

“Yes,” Haru says, feeling a little annoyed by their astonishment, despite himself. “Is that so unbelievable?”

“P-pardon us,” Rei says. “It’s just--well, maybe this was presumptuous, but I never thought… I thought perhaps you weren’t interested in that… kind of activity.”

Haru sighs; even Rei has him figured out. “I’m not.”

He can hear Rei’s confusion in the silence that follows. “Then--why--?”

_Good question_ , he thinks, and covers his eyes with his hand. “I don’t know,” he says, in a small voice. “I was upset.” He takes a deep breath, then forces himself to ask Nagisa the question that really matters. “Is Makoto angry?”

There’s another silence; it stretches on unbearably. Finally, Nagisa speaks, his voice hesitant. “I don’t know if he’s angry, Haru-chan,” he says, “but I think you might have made him unhappy.”

“I figured that out,” Haru mumbles. It’s obvious enough from the way Makoto stormed out. Makoto said it clearly, after all: he didn’t want Haru pretending their relationship was anything more than what it is. And then Haru went and did exactly that, just to make a point. He can’t even remember now what compelled him to think it was a good idea.

“But Haru-chan, I’m sure he’ll forgive you,” Nagisa continues, optimistically. “Mako-chan could never stay upset with you.”

Haru isn’t sure about that, and he’s also not sure if that’s supposed to make him feel better.

“Haruka-senpai,” Rei ventures, sounding cautious, “I’m sorry for this personal question, but… did you… _feel_ anything, kissing Makoto?”

There’s a soft hiss of noise that might be Nagisa whispering in the background, but Haru can’t make out what he’s saying.

“Feel anything?” he echoes, slowly. “Like what?”

Now he’s sure he can hear Nagisa whispering, “ _Rei_ ,” and Rei whispering something back, sharply.

There’s the sound of Rei clearing his throat, and then Rei’s voice at normal volume: “Never mind, it’s--it’s fine, please forget I asked.”

Haru frowns, but doesn’t press further.

“Haru-chan,” comes Nagisa’s voice, “just promise you won’t do anything like that again, okay? I don’t think Mako-chan would appreciate it.”

“I agree,” Rei chimes in, quickly. “Kissing Makoto-senpai again would be a bad idea.”

“I get it,” Haru mumbles. “You don’t have to keep telling me.”

“Okay.” Nagisa sounds relieved. “Good.”

“And I’m sure if you apologize…” Rei starts.

“You _will_ apologize, right, Haru-chan?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Good!”

“Yes, I’m sure that will resolve things.”

“...I’m going to hang up now.” Phone calls are a lot of trouble, he decides, as he cuts off the sound of Nagisa’s and Rei’s goodbyes with a press of a button. He sighs and tosses the phone aside as he crawls into bed.

The tension induced by the call is finally being replaced by exhaustion when Rei’s question slips back into his mind. _Did you feel anything, kissing Makoto?_ He frowns at the thought. The whole problem, the whole _point_ is that he doesn’t feel the things other people feel. And he didn’t; as he expected, there was nothing magical at all about having his lips touching someone else’s.

He wonders, idly, what it’s supposed to feel like. Intimate, maybe. He frowns. Well, it _was_ kind of intimate, just not in a good way. It was like he could feel Makoto’s thoughts, in that moment, through the tremors of his mouth--his surprise, his dismay…

Haru pulls the covers over his head, a new wave of shame rolling over him. He really shouldn’t have done it. And he won’t do it, not ever again, not even if there might be a tiny part of him that’s starting to wonder what a kiss might feel like if the other person actually _wanted_ it.

He rolls that idea around in his head a few times, cautiously. He probably didn’t even do it right, kissing Makoto so tactlessly like that. If it had been Makoto who wanted to kiss _him_ , it definitely would have been different. Makoto is probably good at kissing, when it’s something he means to do; he probably kisses with a smile on his lips, warm and sweet and gentle--

Haru extinguishes that thought with a quick intake of breath. His face feels hot, and he pushes the covers down to take in the cool air of his room. Why is he even _thinking_ about this? But he is; it’s surfacing again in his mind, the strange thought of Makoto kissing him tenderly, like something out of a movie. His face is burning.

_Did you feel anything?_ he thinks again, and he wonders for a second if maybe _this_ is the normal way to feel: flushed and nervous, his heartbeat quickening like he’s about to dive into the final leg of a relay. Could it have been something different, if he had felt like this when it actually happened?

_No, of course not_ , he thinks. Makoto _didn’t_ want to kiss him, after all. And he promised he wouldn’t do it again. He’s better off staying away from things he doesn’t understand.

He tells himself this firmly, and as he drifts asleep, he doesn’t think about Makoto kissing him again.

 

*

 

_I’m sorry_ , he writes in an email the next morning.

He considers a few other things he could say, or ask, but there’s no point. He sends the email and shuts his laptop quickly.

When he comes back from practice that evening, Makoto’s reply is waiting for him:

_It’s okay, Haru, I know it was a mistake. I’m sorry, too. We can get dinner again soon, okay? I really do need to study a lot the next few weeks._

It’s about what he was expecting; of course Makoto has forgiven him, just like Nagisa and Rei said he would. But it isn’t enough to shake the feeling that something has gone seriously wrong.

 

*

 

He doesn’t hear from Makoto again for a while, and it doesn’t really surprise him.

_Did you talk with Makoto?_ Rei emails him, after a few days. _Is everything okay?_

_Yes_ , he replies, because he doesn’t want to think about it. Makoto said it was okay, anyhow; that’s almost enough to pretend.

At least the rest of his life is more or less stable. His swimming times are improving, his coach is happy with him, and the rest of the team seems to have accepted his mumbled apology for not making it to their outing. He still has the water, and he tells himself that’s the most important thing.

And then, when it’s been almost two weeks since he’s last seen Makoto, something changes again.

It’s been a long and kind of aggravating day; he only got half an hour in the pool thanks to a midterm paper and poorly-timed maintenance, and he’s felt restless all evening. Now, lying in bed just before 2 in the morning, he’s exhausted but can’t seem to sleep.

_Maybe I should go for a run_ , he thinks, but his neighborhood isn’t the safest, and he doesn’t feel like changing, anyhow.

He stares up at the dark ceiling and contemplates the other option that’s lingering in his mind. He hasn’t had the urge in a while, and he doesn’t really now, but it would probably work. There’s no reason _not_ to, either; it’s not like he has any shame in taking advantage of his own body’s functions. He hesitates, though, lying still for another moment. Then, finally, he sighs and pushes his hand down the waistband of his pajama pants.

It takes a minute to coax his body into having any interest, but it does feel good once he’s hard, like always. He sighs again, closes his eyes, and relaxes into one of his usual daydreams.

He’s in a cold pool of water, waist deep, standing on smooth rocks. In front of him is a waterfall, so close that he can feel its spray. In his mind, he steps forward into the turbulence, the tip of his nose touching the cold rush of water--

But then, in his very own imagination, he slips. He can almost feel himself lurch forward, the cold water coming down hard and brutal over his shoulders, his arms flying out for balance… and then warm hands on his waist, pulling him out of danger.

His eyes fly open. That’s not supposed to happen. He’s always alone in this daydream; he likes the thrill of being secluded. But the image, the _feeling_ of those hands on him isn’t fading. He imagines them holding him steady as he steps more carefully into the spray, keeping him from falling as the water pours down over his head. It would be safer, he thinks, if someone were holding him like this. He could relax completely and just let those hands guide him into the water and back out again, perfectly timed with his breaths.

Heat pools in his stomach as he strokes himself and imagines the choppy waves crashing around his hips, the cold water hitting his shoulders, and those big, gentle hands gripping his sides, keeping him safe, _Makoto’s_ hands--

“Oh,” he gasps out loud into the silent room, “ _oh_ ,” and then he’s coming hard, his back arching off the bed and his throat barely containing a cry. Then he goes very still. His dick is still throbbing in his hand, and his heart is beating at triple speed, fueled by shock as much as his orgasm. He thought about _Makoto_.

The endorphins fade quickly, and then his face is burning with guilt and confusion as he sits up to find a tissue. It was definitely wrong, thinking about something like that. But at the same time… His hands shake as he finally gives up on cleaning his underwear and changes into a fresh pair in front of his dresser. At the same time, he’s never come like _that_ before. A strange, sick feeling fills his stomach, and he crawls quickly back into bed, burying his face into the pillow and forcing the thought of what just happened out of his mind.

He’s pretty sure he doesn’t get more than an hour of sleep the entire night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 should be up later tonight! :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More mature content ahead--I think this chapter is as nsfw as this fic is going to get. ^^;

After that night, it’s almost a relief not to hear from Makoto.

He doesn’t let himself think about it too much, but there’s a nervousness lingering in his mind over the next few days, keeping him on edge and distracted. Worse yet, he’s still having fits of insomnia, and the temptation to try _that_ again is growing stronger every night. He’s afraid, though, of picturing Makoto again, of what that might mean.

 _It doesn’t mean anything_ , he tells himself. _Last time was just a mistake_.

But it happens again, when he finally gives in.

It’s the same image, but this time he can more clearly imagine it as Makoto’s hands on him, Makoto’s large frame just behind him. He imagines Makoto leaning in close to his ear, whispering _Haru-chan_ , and he comes like that, whimpering in shock at the force of it.

He sleeps that night, long and deep, and despite his guilt he feels blessedly well-rested the next day.

He would never actually _do_ anything with Makoto, even if Makoto wanted to; he tells himself that, and he believes it for a while. But when the thought of Makoto kissing him slips into his daydream, when he imagines that the hand pushing his damp hair back from his forehead as his hips jerk in release is Makoto’s instead of his own, he starts to wonder.

Are the thoughts he’s having actually any different from what other people think about? And if that’s true, then does it mean…?

His face burns at the thought. It’s what he said to himself, not that long ago--that he would want to date Makoto if he was capable of having the right feelings. But even if these are the right feelings, Makoto doesn’t even want to talk to him at the moment, so dating is out of the question. And if he’s been wrong about himself all this time, if this is what attraction is supposed to feel like, and he’s feeling it for someone he shouldn’t… He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with that.

And then, of course, the inevitable happens.

He’s resisted the urge to touch himself the last two nights, and while that’s relieved a little of the heavy dread in his chest, it also means that his eyes are sore with exhaustion when he gets a call from Makoto the next Thursday afternoon, as he’s walking home from practice.

“...Hello?” he answers, his throat dry. It’s not like any of the passersby on the sidewalk could possibly know why this call is making his face turn red, but he can’t help it; he stares down at his feet as he walks.

“Hey, Haru.” Makoto’s voice is soft and a little sad, like he’s apologizing with the greeting itself. And sure enough: “I’m sorry it’s been a while.”

“It’s okay.” Honestly, Haru has had so much else to worry about that he’s nearly forgotten about his original worries over their friendship.

“Have you been doing okay?”

Haru shrugs, and only barely remembers to utter a halfhearted, “Yeah.”

“I’m glad,” Makoto says. It sounds like he means it, which for some reason makes Haru feel terrible. “Well, I’m less--busy, now, so I thought… Do you want to have dinner together? Tomorrow?”

Haru actually hesitates, which he realizes would have been unthinkable a few short weeks ago. Guilty feelings aside, though, he _does_ miss Makoto. “Okay,” he agrees. “Where?”

“Hmm, I guess we were in my neighborhood last time,” Makoto says, which Haru realizes is true; it just feels like that last awkward dinner must have been ages ago. “So that means it’s your turn to pick.”

Haru _hmm_ s softly. After what happened at their last dinner, he’s hesitant to suggest one of their usual spots, but he doesn’t have any other ideas. “Do you want to just come over?” he finally asks. “I wasn’t expecting to go out, so I have a bunch of food…” They’ve done this too, a few times, when Haru has had extra time or Makoto has been craving some particular home-cooked meal.

“Eh, really?” Makoto responds. “You don’t mind cooking?”

Haru shrugs again. It actually might feel good, being able to do something nice for Makoto after the way he’s screwed things up. Makoto always does like his cooking. “It’s fine,” he says.

“Okay,” Makoto says, and it makes Haru feel a little better to hear the hint of a smile in his voice. “I’ll be there tomorrow, then.”

 

*

 

Haru does actually have a lot of food in his fridge, but he ends up going grocery shopping again the next day anyhow, not wanting to have to serve Makoto the basic fish-and-vegetable staples he’s picked up. He eyes some of the nicer cuts of beef that he knows Makoto likes, but in the end, thinking about his budget, he picks up some pork cutlets for tonkatsu and a head of cabbage to go with it.

He’s only made this dish once before, thanks to his own dietary tendencies, but he’s pretty proud of how it looks as he’s pulling it out of the oil to cool. He’s already shredded the cabbage and cooked the rice and prepared some cold tofu for a side dish, and the work of it all has been enough to distract him from the nerves he probably should be feeling.

Makoto is punctual as usual; the buzz of the doorbell comes just as Haru’s pulled the last piece of tonkatsu out of the pan. Makoto has brought a small watermelon that Haru takes to the cutting board to prepare for dessert, and he’s complaining lightheartedly about classes and tests, and it’s not until Haru turns from putting the sliced watermelon in the fridge and sees Makoto sitting cross-legged by the table that he realizes how incredibly _stupid_ he’s been.

Makoto’s eyes catch on his, and Haru is certain that they’re both thinking the same thing. This is exactly where Makoto was sitting the last time they saw each other, when they argued, when Haru _kissed him_. He feels his cheeks heat with embarrassment, and he quickly busies himself with finding plates and cups and chopsticks. It would be bad enough if it was just that incident; if Makoto knew about the thoughts he’s had since then…

He almost drops the tea he’s setting down on the table, but Makoto steadies it just in time. “So, Haru, is anything new with you?” he asks. He’s smiling, but Haru thinks the lightness in his voice might be a little forced.

“Not really,” Haru says, too quickly.

“Have you seen any of your teammates lately?”

“Of course I see them,” he says under his breath, as he carries the food over.

“I mean…”

“No, not yet. I’m--working on it. They’re talking to me a little more.” He thinks that part is true, although he’s been too distracted to really care. He could mention the karaoke invitation, but he doesn’t; it doesn’t prove much, and that night still hurts a little to think about, despite everything.

“That’s good, then,” Makoto says softly. Then, looking down at his plate: “Wow, Haru, you didn’t have to go to all this trouble… It looks really delicious, though.”

Haru was proud of his effort a minute ago, but now he feels embarrassed by it, like maybe he’s overcompensating for his mistakes. “It wasn’t much trouble,” he mumbles, after they’ve said _itadakimasu_ and started to eat. “I just didn’t want you to laugh at me for making fish.”

“Aww, Haru, I wouldn’t laugh at you for that,” Makoto says, smiling.

“You definitely would.” He tries a bite of the tonkatsu and is relieved that it’s actually good; at least he hasn’t screwed this up.

Across the table, Makoto is having the same realization more dramatically. “Ah, Haru, you’re an amazing cook,” he gushes. “I could never make anything like this. It’s so _good_.” His eyes are closed, and he’s sighing rapturously around the mouthful of food, and it would be kind of silly if the hair on the back of Haru’s neck weren’t suddenly standing straight on end. He feels himself turn red, and he’s lucky that he has the moment before Makoto’s eyes open to grab his steaming cup of tea and bring it up to his lips.

He drains half of it before he trusts himself to put it back down on the table. _So this isn’t just about my imagination_ , he thinks, although he tells himself just as quickly that it still _could_ be. The things he’s thought about doing could still be relegated to his daydreams, even if the person in front of him is all too real. Makoto swallows and looks right at him with a warm smile, and Haru feels a shiver go up his spine, feels his eyes go unfocused like they do when he’s in bed. _Oh no_ , he thinks. _No, no_ …

Makoto seems to notice something strange in his gaze; he looks down at the food as he continues to eat. “So, um--have you heard anything from Rin lately?”

“Ah… not much,” Haru manages to answer. “Just that his training is on track.” Rin’s actually sent him a few random updates about life in Sydney, some of which Haru is pretty sure have been drunk emails, but the majority of his communications are still nothing but numbers: meters and times, a constant challenge and promise that Haru has no trouble interpreting.

“That’s good,” Makoto says, smiling down at his food. “It would be amazing if you both… you know.”

Haru nods quickly. The subject of the national team usually makes him nervous--not for the thing itself, but for the fear of letting Rin down if Rin makes it and he doesn’t--but right now he’s just glad that it gives him an excuse for how he’s already behaving.

“Anyhow,” Makoto continues, “I hope he’s doing well over there... I guess he’s used to it after all those years, but I’d just miss Japan so much if I ever left. Wouldn’t you, Haru?”

“Hm... I’d miss the food.”

Makoto laughs softly. “Well, at least you could always cook for yourself if you ever had to live anywhere else... I’d be pretty useless.”

“Good thing you’re not going anywhere, then,” Haru mutters. He means it earnestly, but he only realizes once it’s out of his mouth that it sounds kind of harsh. “I mean...”

Makoto is still smiling, but more weakly. “No, I’m not,” he agrees. “I guess I don’t know yet where I’ll end up after university, but it definitely won’t be outside the country.”

“That’s a long time from now,” Haru points out, a little sourly. They just _started_ university, and Makoto is already thinking ahead to his next departure?

“That’s true,” Makoto says, his eyes crinkling. He doesn’t seem to get Haru’s point, though, judging by his next question. “What about you, Haru? Do you think you’ll end up settling down here in Tokyo?”

“No idea,” Haru responds curtly. The thought of it makes him a little ill, to be honest. There are some nice things about city life, but on the whole it makes him uncomfortable; he misses the smell of the ocean and the sound of crickets outside his room at night. He can’t imagine ever choosing to live in Tokyo on his own, without Makoto to keep him grounded.

If he thinks about it, though, he’s not sure if he can imagine living _anywhere_ without Makoto. What would it even be like, if he moved back to his home in Iwatobi without Makoto living there as his neighbor?

The next bite of tonkatsu is tasteless in his mouth as he considers that. He didn’t move to Tokyo to follow Makoto, not _really_ ; there were all kinds of other considerations at the time. But it felt right, and it all fell into place. And if it hadn’t...? Well, he can still remember what it was like when he thought that Makoto leaving for Tokyo was going to mean leaving _him_. Even in his most pessimistic imaginings of Makoto getting married and having a family and never having time for him, he always envisioned Makoto _being_ there. He doesn’t like to think about how it felt to have that taken away from him.

“Sorry,” Makoto murmurs, finally seeming to pick up on his feelings. “We don’t have to talk about stuff like that.”

He looks kind of sad, too, though, and Haru wonders if Makoto knows what he’s thinking, or if he’s ever had the same feelings.

 _Probably not_ , he thinks. _Makoto is fine on his own_.

He doesn’t feel much like talking, after that, and Makoto doesn’t speak for a while, either, breaking the silence only to comment mildly on the weather and his family and the homework he needs to do.

“This was really good,” Makoto says again, as they’re clearing their dishes from the table. “Thanks, Haru.”

Haru half-shrugs in reply and goes to get the watermelon slices from the refrigerator. “Thanks for bringing this.”

“Ah--it was just on sale,” Makoto says, as he picks up one of the pieces. “I guess it’s really summer now…”

Haru nods and bites into a piece of his own--it’s bracingly cold, the way he likes it.

“Are you going back home to Iwatobi for the break?” Makoto asks.

Haru shakes his head.  It would have been nice to go back, but the break is only a week away, so it’s too late to buy tickets now. It’s not like he has any family that actually lives there, anyhow. _My real family is Makoto_ , he thinks, except that that makes his recent thoughts seem even more inppropriate. “I have to swim,” is all he says, which is also true.

“Ah, right, of course,” Makoto says, smiling. “Well, my parents bought me a plane ticket to come home, so I guess they made the decision for me… It’ll be really good to see them, though. And I think I’ll even be there to watch Rei and Nagisa swim!”

“Oh,” Haru says. “Yeah.” He forgets sometimes that Rei and Nagisa are even still competing, but he knows that by some miracle they did manage to find two new members for the team. It surprises him, too, that he was worrying about a high school competition just a year ago; it already feels like a distant memory.

“Hey, Haru,” Makoto says, then, a strange note in his voice.

Haru looks up to see that Makoto is staring down at a piece of watermelon rind in his hand, looking hesitant. He waits.

“I still owe you an apology,” Makoto says softly.

Haru frowns, and sees Makoto glance up and recognize the _for what?_ written on his face.

“I haven’t been a very good friend lately,” Makoto continues. “Not just with… keeping things from you, but with everything.” He swallows and presses on, “With not wanting to talk to you the last few weeks, and… and the things I said before, about needing to spend less time with you. It hasn’t been fair of me.”

Haru’s stomach feels tense with confusion. This is what he wanted, wasn’t it? For Makoto to take back the things he said? He doesn’t know why it isn’t a relief. “I just wanted things to stay the same,” he finally says, when Makoto doesn’t say anything else. “I wanted… us to be the same.” He doesn’t mention the latest reason why he’s started to give up on that wish.

“I know,” Makoto says quietly. “And… I should want that, too.” His gaze falls back down to the floor. “I shouldn’t have made it seem like any of this was your fault. I shouldn’t…” He sighs and rubs at his face; he looks distraught, and Haru still can’t understand why. “I shouldn’t have reacted so much to--to every little thing.”

A flicker of comprehension lights in Haru’s mind and sinks straight down into his gut. “You mean--like to…?” _To when I kissed you_ , he doesn’t say, but he doesn’t have to, he knows he’s right when Makoto nods.

But what Makoto says next plunges him right back into confusion.

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” Makoto whispers, and he looks… is it _ashamed?_ “And that’s--that’s so stupid, I know; I know you didn’t mean anything by it. I know you don’t…” The word cuts off strangely, and he takes an uneven breath before finishing, “I know you don’t feel that way about me.”

Haru suddenly can’t breathe at all. He’s not even totally sure what Makoto is saying, but it seems possible that it’s something important, and he needs to _know_. Makoto doesn’t seem able to say anything else, so Haru has a moment to find his voice, to finally ask, “Do you mean… You did want to kiss me?”

Makoto’s eyes are wide and glassy when he looks up, and it’s so much like the last time Makoto was sitting here, before he ran away, except… Except that what it means to Haru has changed completely. “Yeah,” Makoto whispers. Haru feels everything he knows tumble out of alignment once again, while one tiny thing, one corner of the turmoiled landscape of his mind, clicks into place. “I’ve wanted to for a long time,” Makoto is saying, looking like he’s going to cry, but Haru can barely even pay attention over the ringing in his ears. “But… I know that’s not--”

“I can do it again,” Haru blurts, interrupting him. “I can do it--better.”

Makoto’s mouth falls open. “ _What?_ ” he squeaks.

“I’ve been thinking about it, too,” Haru says. He’s pretty sure he looks a little wide-eyed himself; he feels absurdly _eager_. “I want to try it again.”

“H-Haru…” Makoto whispers. “That… that’s not…” His lips are trembling again, and Haru has a powerful urge to lean over and kiss him right now, like he did before. But he can’t ruin this now, not when he’s so close to getting what he wants. “Are you serious?” Makoto finally asks.

Haru nods, and then he crawls around the table until they’re just a few inches apart. “It wasn’t any good before,” he explains. “We can do it right this time.”

“Oh,” Makoto says, in a very small voice. His eyes flick up to Haru’s face, and he seems to shiver. “Um,” he says, swallowing visibly. He’s silent for a long moment, and then he whispers, “Um--o-okay.”

“Okay?”

“If... that’s really what you want, Haru.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh,” Makoto whispers again. He takes in a breath, seems to hesitate, and then leans in. His skin is radiating warmth as he brushes their lips together. It starts out tentative and light, but when Haru closes his eyes and tries pressing back, Makoto sighs against his mouth and gives him a real, tender kiss, and it’s everything Haru has thought about and more _._

All of his senses feel heightened. He can hear his own heartbeat, and he can feel Makoto responding to him; when he tilts his head to fit their mouths together better, he can feel the way Makoto trembles as he follows suit, the way he gasps when Haru’s tongue brushes against his lip. Then Makoto’s lips part, and heat floods Haru’s entire body as Makoto’s tongue slides against his own. He can hardly believe how different this is from the last time, or that he ever thought he wouldn’t like it; it’s _wonderful_.

They kiss until they can’t anymore; Makoto moves to pull away at one point, but Haru tugs him back by his shirt, and Makoto acquiesces easily, moaning into his mouth. When they finally do part, they’re both flushed and gasping for breath.

“ _Haru_ ,” Makoto whispers. “That… what…?”

“It’s good, isn’t it?” Haru murmurs to himself, still mesmerized by the sensation of it, how his skin feels like it’s pulsing with energy. “It feels good.”

“Y-yeah.” Makoto is blushing, looking down at the ground between them with wide eyes. “But--Haru…”

Haru frowns. “What?”

“It’s just… I thought you didn’t… you know…” He takes a quick, shallow breath. “Want anything. Like this.”

“It’s new,” Haru admits.

“Oh.”

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”

“ _Oh._ ”

Haru is trying to be patient, but he doesn’t understand why Makoto is looking like he’s working out some complex problem when they could be kissing again; they’ve both gotten their breath back by now. “You like it too, right?” he ventures.

Makoto’s eyes flick up. “Yeah,” he whispers.

 _Then why not?_ Haru thinks, and leans in again.

Makoto goes still when their lips touch, and for a moment it’s like the first time again; Haru has a flash of fear that he’s going to pull away.

But he doesn’t. “Haru,” he murmurs instead, and melts against Haru’s mouth.

It’s even better this time, slow and deep and overlaid with something new, some longing that makes him feel dizzy and hot. Then Makoto’s hand touches his waist, and the echo of his daydream makes him realize what it is. He’s _really_ hard.

He gasps softly and tenses, wondering if Makoto will notice. _I guess this is normal_ , he thinks, although he’s shocked by how intense the urge is to _do_ something about it. _Is Makoto hard, too?_ he wonders, and a jolt goes up his spine. That’s not something he’s ever considered, but it suddenly seems important.

He’s distracted, though, by Makoto’s hand curling around his side, tugging him close as they kiss. It feels like an invitation, and when he follows it, he finds himself sliding easily into Makoto’s lap.

“Haru--!”

Haru leans back far enough to blink at him. “What?”

Both of Makoto’s hands are on his sides, now, and his thumbs are rubbing in small circles that make Haru shiver. “Is… is this really okay?” Makoto asks in a whisper.

 _Why wouldn’t it be?_ “I already said I like it,” Haru says. “Do you… want to stop?”

“...No,” Makoto murmurs, and Haru breathes a sigh of relief.

“Good.”

“But-- _Haru_ , do you…” Makoto trails off, blushing, and Haru realizes that he’s looking down at the crotch of Haru’s pants. “Oh,” he says softly. “You... you really…” His hands fall down to Haru’s hips and stop short. That’s another thing Haru hasn’t imagined: Makoto being the one touching him like _that_. It might be good, though, he thinks. Isn’t that why people do it?

He’s wondering if it would be weird to ask about it when Makoto shifts a little, unfolding his legs. Haru lifts himself up to let Makoto move, and that’s when he discovers two things at once: One, Makoto is as hard as he is, and two, rubbing against him there feels _amazing_.

They both gasp. “Haru,” Makoto whispers.

It’s a muffled sensation, through his clothes, but Haru’s nerves are so frayed that it feels raw and electric. Makoto is staring at him, lips parted and cheeks red, and for once Haru doesn’t have to feel guilty about the improper thoughts that flood his mind, not when Makoto is really here, _doing_ this with him.

He moves his hips again, purposefully, and watches as Makoto’s eyes lose all their focus. “Haru,” Makoto says again. His voice sounds strangled.

“Is it--okay?” Haru asks in a murmur. “Like this?” He’ll take off his clothes if Makoto says he’s supposed to, but he doesn’t really want to move from the position he’s in right now, and he doesn’t think Makoto does either.

“Yeah,” Makoto replies, after a moment’s hesitation. “It’s good… It--it’s-- _oh_.” The end of his sentence is lost as Haru rubs against him again. “P-please, Haru…”

Haru takes Makoto’s face in his hands and kisses him then, reveling in the indulgence of rubbing himself against Makoto while their lips and tongues slide together hungrily. Makoto is responding to him completely now, and it’s such a relief to be moving together like this; it feels almost as natural as being in the water. Makoto tries to tug him closer as the friction builds, and they end up toppling onto the floor, Makoto on his back and Haru straddling him, forearms falling on either side of Makoto’s head. Haru takes the interruption in stride, and it’s only a moment before he’s found an angle that turns his whole body hot and makes Makoto moan, high-pitched, into his mouth.

 _I’m going to come like this_ , he realizes, maybe a little too late. _With Makoto_. The shock of this realization is still reverberating through him when Makoto clutches his hips and pulls him down as he thrusts up once, twice--

“ _Haru_ ,” Makoto whimpers, and that’s all Haru knows; the third thrust sends him over the edge, and he’s coming so hard his vision bends and swirls. Makoto is moaning incoherently near his ear, and from the pitch of it, Haru is distantly aware that Makoto must have come too, probably in the same instant. _We’re in sync again_ , he thinks, and then he collapses next to Makoto’s side.

It takes a minute for his head to clear and for the feeling to come back into his limbs. His skin is still tingling when he sits up. Then he looks down, and a funny jolt goes through him at the sight of Makoto’s dazed face. _So that’s why people do this together_. He feels his lips curve into a smile.

Makoto smiles back, faintly, but then he hesitates and averts his eyes. “That… um.” His voice is soft and a little shaky. “Haru… Are you okay?”

Is that a normal thing to ask after sex? Haru isn’t sure. He’s also not sure if that counted as _sex_ , exactly, but it was… definitely something in that category. And he definitely liked it. “Of course,” he replies, because why wouldn’t he be okay? Except… “Gross,” he murmurs, looking down at the crotch of his pants.

“Huh?” Makoto follows his gaze and blushes. “Oh.”

“I’m going to change.”

He pushes himself off the floor and goes to his room, stopping along the way to dampen some washcloths. When he comes back out in sweatpants and fresh underwear, Makoto is sitting up at the low table, picking at a watermelon rind.

“Here,” Haru says, and hands him a washcloth.

“...Thanks.”

There’s an awkward moment as Makoto sits still with the damp cloth in his hand, like he’s not sure what to do with it.

“You can use the bathroom, if you want,” Haru finally offers.

“Right… yeah.”

As Makoto disappears into the bathroom, Haru busies himself with cleaning up the kitchenette. Despite the mild awkwardness he feels, he can’t help but smile to himself as he starts to wash the dishes. _I liked it_ , he thinks again, letting the words sink in. _I really liked it_. And Makoto liked it, too, which means…

 _Which means he doesn’t have to date someone else_. Relief fills him as soon as he realizes it. If he’s capable of this much, then surely he can figure out… whatever else Makoto might want. He feels a thrill of excitement at the thought. _And Makoto can stay with me_ , he thinks. _He doesn’t have to leave_. It seems almost too good to be true.

He’s broken out of his happy reverie by a soft rustling behind him, and he turns to see Makoto standing in the middle of the living room, watching him. “Hey,” Makoto says, when their eyes meet. Haru realizes then that Makoto is wearing the light jacket he came with, and the backpack he set in the entryway.

He frowns. “Are you leaving?”

“Yeah, I…I should.” Makoto gives a weak smile. “I’m--pretty tired.”

Haru is tired, too, but it’s a warm, satisfied feeling that he feels like basking in. He sort of hoped Makoto would want to bask with him. “You don’t have to go,” he says, a little more pointedly than he means to.

“I need to,” Makoto murmurs. He goes to the door and puts on his shoes, and Haru follows him closely. When Makoto stands up to leave, there’s barely a foot of space between them.

 _We should kiss_ , Haru thinks. _Isn’t that what people do?_ He clutches at the sleeve of Makoto’s jacket and tugs him close, but Makoto seems to misunderstand and instead gives him something like an armless hug.

“I’ll see you, Haru,” he murmurs, and then pulls away.

When he leaves, the quiet of the apartment quickly fills Haru’s ears. Was it his imagination, or did Makoto seem a little… off-kilter?

Then again, Haru’s not feeling completely steady either. _And he must have been surprised_ , he thinks, another tiny smile tugging at his lips.

He spends the rest of the evening with that smile on his face, thinking about all the ways he might be able to surprise Makoto again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not quite a cliffhanger this time... or is it?
> 
> I think there will only be one more chapter, but I'll have the rest posted this week no matter what! Thanks for reading, and I would love to hear what you think. :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the end of the story! I wasn’t sure if I could really tie all of this up in a single chapter, but I did--it’s just a long one. I hope you all enjoy it! ^_^

Haru doesn’t get a lot of sleep again that night, but this time it’s not because of his guilt or the frustration of self-restraint. It’s a flood of new ideas that’s keeping him up--endless, persistent recollections of things he’s heard about couples doing, that _they_ could do.

He really wishes Makoto hadn’t left.

He also kind of thought, maybe unreasonably, that Makoto would have called or instant messaged him by now. He knows that Makoto is probably busy finishing homework before the break, but it still bothers him a little when he goes online and sees the green dot next to Makoto’s name and doesn’t get so much as a cute animal picture sent to him.

He holds onto his optimism, though, for a whole week. It’s Thursday evening when he finally gives in and pulls up Makoto’s number on his phone, even though this isn’t how it’s supposed to be; Makoto is always the one who calls him.

It rings for a long time, and Haru is about to worry that something is wrong when Makoto finally picks up.

“Hello?” he answers, as if he doesn’t know who it is.

Haru frowns. “Makoto.”

“...Hey, Haru.” There’s something off about Makoto’s voice, but Haru presses on.

“Do you want to come over tomorrow?”

“I can’t,” Makoto says, after a pause. “I have to pack for my flight.”

 _How long could that take?_ Haru wonders. He tries again: “Then tonight?”

This time the delay is even longer. Then, finally, Makoto speaks, and all the hope falls out of Haru’s heart: “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

 _What?_ It doesn’t make sense; he _fixed_ this.

“We--we can get dinner, if you want,” Makoto says, seeming to backpedal in the face of Haru’s silence. “It’s just--I don’t...”

 _He doesn’t want to be alone with me._ The truth of it pierces Haru like a knife, and his throat goes tight. Makoto said it was okay, he _said_ …

“Wasn’t that what you wanted?” Haru blurts.

“Haru…” Makoto takes a shaky breath. “What--happened, last time… It was a mistake,” he says quietly. “It wasn’t right.” He falls silent for a moment, then murmurs, “I’m sorry, Haru, it’s not your fault.”

Haru’s stomach is in knots. If it’s not his fault, then _why_ , why is it wrong? Did Makoto change his mind? “I thought you liked it,” he says, finally.

There’s a soft, humorless laugh on the other end of the phone. Haru has never heard Makoto make a sound like that before. “It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?” Then, in case Makoto was worried, in case it wasn’t clear: “I liked it too.”

“I know,” Makoto says. “But that’s not… that doesn’t make it okay.”

“But... you wanted to kiss me,” Haru almost whispers.

“I shouldn’t have said that.”

Haru’s chest constricts horribly. “You didn’t mean it?”

“I didn’t mean… for you to--” Makoto cuts himself off with a ragged sigh. “That’s not all there is to it.” His voice is low and tight, strained with some emotion Haru can’t place. “It’s not just about wanting to-- _do_ stuff like that.”

Haru can’t form a reply. What else could Makoto want? “So…” he finally manages, his throat dry. “We’re not… together?”

Makoto takes in a sharp breath, loud enough for Haru to hear. “We’re _friends_ , Haru,” he whispers. “To be-- _together_ , like that…” He trails off, then finishes softly, “There have to be… other feelings.”

There’s a long, expectant silence. _Other feelings_.

“Okay, Haru?”

 _No_ , Haru thinks, and drops the phone onto his desk. He pushes his chair away and goes to bury himself in bed without even bothering to end the call.

 

*

 

The next day, he sleeps until noon, only forcing himself out of bed when it’s time for his class. He goes out of habit, but he realizes quickly that he shouldn’t have bothered; there’s no attendance sheet, and not a word of the lecture is penetrating his aching head. He stares down at his textbook, and the words swim on the page. _It’s not that simple_ , echoes Makoto’s voice in his head.

He shuts the book and buries his face in his hand, not even pretending to pay attention for the rest of the hour.

After class is his usual training session, and he’s never wanted to swim more. He doesn’t know if being in the water will really cool the frustration that’s simmering in his stomach or drown out his miserable thoughts, but it’s the only thing he can think to do.

He gets to the pool early, changes quickly, and prepares to dive in for some warm-up laps before his coach arrives.

“Hey, Nanase.”

The same upperclassman who invited him out that day is on the next starting block over, looking at him. Haru still doesn’t know his name.

“You okay?”

He follows the guy’s gaze to his own hands and realizes that they’re clenching in and out of fists, trembling. He shakes them out, then shakes his head, too. “Yeah,” he mutters, even though the answer is definitely _no_. “Fine.” He turns and lunges toward the water before the guy can ask any more questions.

He’s done with questions. He’s done with talking, with _thinking_. He’s thought so much, the last few weeks, and it’s gotten him nothing but feelings he didn’t need in the first place. He thought he wanted to be like this, but he was wrong. It would have been so much better never to have thought about Makoto this way, never to have considered the possibility of having Makoto to himself. Never to have thought that Makoto _wanted_ that, only to find out--

He kicks off hard at the turn and tries to smother the words with his strokes, but it’s no use; it doesn’t work that way. The water is like a conductor for his thoughts, and they bleed out of him freely as he crashes forward.

 _Makoto said it wasn’t right_.

_That’s not what he wants._

_He doesn’t want me._

And then everything collapses into a single, blinding point of pain--not in his chest, but in his outstretched hand. He screams into the water, garbled, and nearly chokes as he comes up for air.

“ _Shit_ ,” he hears someone yell. “Nanase!”

 _I’m at the wall_ , he realizes distantly, as he tries to cling to it with his other hand. _I didn’t notice_. And then his vision goes black.

 

*

 

He ends up needing surgery on his hand to mitigate the damage. He’s broken three bones, and everyone tells him he’s lucky it’s not worse.

“I still don’t get what happened,” he hears Ogawa--the upperclassman, he finally figured it out when they were driving him to the hospital--say, as he’s being released. The surgery is scheduled for the next day; for now they’ve just immobilized him from the wrist down. “I swear he was going at full speed.”

Three of his teammates are sitting with his coach in the waiting room when he comes out, and although he feels a wave of embarrassment when they look up at him, he’s kind of glad that they’re there.

“Come on,” Ogawa tells him, after he’s talked through everything he needs to with his coach. “We’ll take you home.”

They don’t ask too many questions of him as they drive, but they don’t pretend he’s not there, either, and it feels almost comfortable. Even though he knows they must be disappointed that he’ll miss their next several meets, they seem... nice. Maybe he should have talked to them a long time ago, like Makoto kept telling him to.

But the thought of Makoto sends a wave of discomfort through him, so he pushes it aside and instead just listens to the conversation around him. Makoto is leaving for Iwatobi the next morning; he doesn’t need to get involved in this. The last thing Haru wants is for Makoto to realize how badly he’s taken everything.

The next day, the other two people from his team who were at the hospital show up to drive him to his surgery appointment downtown, and he accepts their generosity without complaint.

“We just thought you could use a _hand_ ,” one of them jokes, after Haru murmurs his thanks. The other one rolls his eyes and calls him insensitive, and it’s--sort of familiar. Like something he forgot about after high school. He gives them a faint smile as he leaves the car, and they’re there again to pick him up when he’s released from surgery, several hours later.

He ends up seeing a lot of them over the next two weeks--he has three check-ups and four physical therapy appointments, and they seem to have his schedule memorized; they show up every time, dutifully shuttling him back and forth.

“I can just take the train,” he finally tells them, but the one who apparently owns the car waves him off. “Ogawa said we should look out for you,” he says. “Plus, you’re part of the team.”

Haru feels a wave of guilt. “I don’t know your names,” he blurts, before he can stop himself.

He’s expecting them to be offended, but they don’t seem to be; the louder one is actually laughing. “I’m Sano,” he says. “This is Kojima.”

“Nice to meet you,” Haru mumbles, and this time they both laugh.

 

*

 

“Jeez, we really could have used you at today’s meet,” Sano says, as they’re driving him home the next weekend. Haru can recognize by now that there’s no complaint hidden in the statement; Sano just speaks his mind. “We were all off our game, or something. We got totally destroyed.”

“You’ll be able to swim again in time for the university championship, right?” Kojima asks.

From the backseat, Haru gives a half-shrug that doesn’t at all capture how he feels about not being allowed in the water. “Probably.”

“Thank goodness. We need you on the team.”

They drop him off at his apartment and tell him _feel better_ and _we’ll see you soon_ , and Haru feels… okay. His hand has improved a little, and he’s on enough painkillers at the moment that it hardly hurts.

The pain in his chest is another matter, but all the appointments have at least provided a distraction. He knows, though, that it’s going to catch up with him. He gleaned from a recent email from Rei that Makoto is supposed to be getting back to Tokyo today; he might already be back. Haru won’t be able to avoid seeing him forever.

But for now, he pushes those thoughts away and goes up to his apartment to heat up some canned soup for dinner. He’s sitting down in front of his computer to eat when he sees an email from Rin.

 _‘Get on skype,’_ is all it says.

An uneasy feeling washes over Haru as he complies. What if something’s happened to Makoto?

He doesn’t have long to worry, though; he’s barely online for a second before Rin is calling him. He hits the _accept_ button, and Rin’s face fills the screen.

“What the hell happened to you?” Rin demands.

Haru breathes a sigh of relief. Of course-- _he’s_ the one something happened to. Then he frowns. “How did you find out?”

“I follow your damn meets,” Rin says, like it should be obvious. He clicks on something and points at the screen as he reads: “ _Injured list: Nanase Haruka, freshman, upper body injury._ ” He scowls, but Haru thinks he can see worry in his eyes. “What happened? When did you get injured?”

“...Last week,” Haru says, looking away. “During practice.” He doesn’t want to show Rin, but it’s not like he can hide it. He holds up his bruised, taped, splinted right hand to the webcam.

“ _Shit._ ”

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he mumbles, although he’s not really sure if that’s true. “I’ll be able to get back in the water soon.”

“How long until you’re back to normal?”

Haru gives Rin the same half-shrug he gave his teammates. “The university championship is in a month,” he says. “Hopefully before then.”

“You need to get better,” Rin says, and now Haru can definitely see the concern in his face, raw and unabashed. “Alright, Haru?”

“I know. It was an accident.”

“Jeez.” Rin rubs at his face. “Yeah. Okay. Just--be careful, please.”

“I’ll try.”

Rin breathes in deeply and gives a long sigh. Then he lets out a huff of laughter. “Did Makoto make that for you?”

Haru’s head snaps up, and he realizes Rin is looking at the soup in front of his laptop. “No,” he says, too sharply. “What?”

“I just figured he’d be taking care of you,” Rin says. “It must be hard to do anything with your hand like that.”

Haru feels his cheeks turning hot, and he tries to will it to stop. “Makoto’s in Iwatobi.”

“Oh yeah. Guess it’s summer break for you guys.” Rin lets out another soft, rueful laugh. “I bet he’s anxious to get back, then.”

Haru blinks at him, questioning.

“With you getting hurt, and all. He must be freaking out.”

Haru goes still as he tries to think of a response, and by the time he realizes that his face is giving it all away, it’s too late.

“Oh my god,” Rin says. “You didn’t tell him?”

Haru opens his mouth to answer, then closes it again. “I didn’t tell you, either,” he finally counters.

“I’m all the way over _here_! Makoto would probably already be there by now if he knew.”

“Don’t tell him,” Haru says, quickly.

Rin frowns. “What? When’s he coming back?”

“...Today.”

“Well, it’s not like I’m going to talk to him right _now_.”

“No, I mean...” Haru looks down at the keyboard. “Just--don’t tell him.” When he glances up, Rin is staring crookedly at him.

“What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t give me that. Did you guys have a fight again?”

Haru goes quiet at that. He almost forgot that he confided in Rin after the last time things went wrong between him and Makoto, a year ago. _When I found out Makoto was leaving me_. His chest clenches at the thought. “It’s not like that,” he murmurs.

Rin’s eyebrows crease in confusion. “Then what is it?”

“It’s nothing.” He knows he doesn’t sound convincing, but he can’t confess the truth, not even to Rin. “It’s just… I did something wrong.” He swallows hard. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, jeez,” Rin says. “Whatever it is, don’t make yourself crazy over it, alright? I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Haru is pretty sure it won’t be fine, but he stays silent.

Rin sighs. “Seriously, you remember what happened last time, don’t you? Makoto doesn’t know how to stay mad at you, no matter what you do. The guy’s practically in love with you.”

The words hit Haru like a blow to his chest, and he clutches at the edge of the desk with his good hand until his knuckles turn white. “He’s _not_ ,” he whispers, before he can think better of it. 

“Oh, shit,” he hears Rin mutter under his breath.

“That’s all,” Haru says, because he doesn’t want to say more, and also because that’s _it_ , basically, the whole story. “I wanted that, but--he’s not.” His throat is starting to constrict with the threat of tears when Rin’s voice interrupts him.

“Wait, _what?_ Are you telling me _you_ have feelings for _Makoto?_ ”

Haru lets out a frustrated noise. “Why is that so hard to believe?”

“And he turned you _down?_ ”

He nods and folds his arms over his stomach, looking down miserably at his desk. He didn’t mean to tell Rin. He probably _shouldn’t_ have told Rin, but it’s too late now.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Rin says. His eyes are wide. “Seriously, Haru.”

Haru shrugs, forlorn. None of it makes sense, as far as he’s concerned: how he feels, how Makoto feels, how any of this is ever supposed to work.

“What exactly did he say?”

Haru doesn’t want to think about it, but Rin is staring at him so earnestly that he has to answer. “He just said--it wasn’t right,” he says, his voice shaking. “That we were just friends, and that--that there had to be other feelings for us to be together.”

Rin is still staring at him. “He said that after you told him how you feel?”

Haru nods, hesitantly. “Well--I kissed him.”

“...That’s it?”

That wasn’t exactly it, and he’s starting to blush at the details he’s leaving out when Rin speaks again.

“So you didn’t _say_ anything?”

Haru opens his mouth to protest. He said plenty; he told Makoto things that were almost impossible to say. But it’s true he didn’t say anything like _I like you_. He would have remembered that.

“It just seems like… Maybe he thought _you_ were the one who didn’t feel that way.”

Haru’s pulse starts to pound in his ears as Rin’s words sink in. Could Makoto really not have known how he felt, even after what happened? Is he just clinging to false hope, or is it possible--?

“It’s not like he ever admitted it, but come on,” Rin is saying. His voice seems far away. “We all kind of knew he was crazy about you.”

Haru stands up abruptly. “I need to go,” he whispers.

Rin’s eyes widen in surprise, but Haru is closing the laptop before he can say anything else. He doesn’t have time to second-guess himself. All he can think about is talking to Makoto _now_.

 

*

 

It’s getting dark when he gets off the train at Makoto’s stop and half-walks, half-jogs to Makoto’s apartment. He’s not even sure if Makoto has gotten back yet, and when he gets there, the front window is dark. He tries the doorbell anyhow, a couple of times, but there’s no response.

He thinks about calling Makoto, but he realizes that he doesn’t even have his phone; he walked out of his apartment without stopping to take anything at all.

So instead he turns and presses his back to the door, then slides down until he’s sitting on the cold concrete of the walkway. He leans his head into the corner where the door meets the frame and takes a deep, steadying breath. _I’ll just wait_ , he thinks. _One way or another._

He’s not sure how much time passes after that. He closes his eyes after a while and tries to quiet the churning anxiety in his stomach, but all his relaxation attempts get him, eventually, is a strange, fitful half-sleep. He’s aware of where he is, but his worries bleed into nightmares: he imagines that Makoto has come back and rejected him again, or that something terrible has happened and Makoto is missing, or that he’s decided to stay in Iwatobi, that he’s not coming back--

“Haru?”

He opens his eyes. Maybe he really did fall asleep, because Makoto is right in front of him, suitcase in one hand and keys in the other, and Haru didn’t even hear him come up the stairs. Relief courses through him as his dreams slip away--Makoto is here, he’s okay, Haru still has a chance to tell him.

Makoto, though, looks anything but relieved. “Haru, what are you doing here?” he asks, his voice high and verging on panic. “Are you okay? Are you--” His eyes catch on Haru’s bandages and go wide. “What happened to you?”

“It’s fine,” Haru says. He tries to push himself up with his left hand, but it’s a struggle to find his balance.

Makoto drops his suitcase. “Haru--” he says, and then his hand is there, outstretched.

Haru puts his weight back on the ground and then takes Makoto’s hand to pull himself up. “Thanks,” he murmurs.

“Haru, you’re not even wearing a jacket…”

It was warm out when he left, but the night air has turned cool, and Haru realizes his bare arms are covered in goosebumps.

“Here, get inside, okay?” Makoto unlocks the door and pushes it open, and Haru steps inside, grateful for the rush of warm air.

Makoto follows him into the room and stands a few paces away. His eyes are full of questions, and he’s opening his mouth to speak, but Haru can’t wait any more; he’s waited too long already.

“Are you in love with me?”

Makoto freezes. “ _What?_ ”

The boldness that Haru’s sleep-fogged state gave him slips away quickly when he sees Makoto’s horrified expression. He looks away. “Rin said--he thought…”

“Haru, what is going _on_?”

“I just needed to know,” Haru finishes. His voice sounds weak and pathetic to his own ears. He suddenly feels stupid for being here, for showing up at Makoto’s door like this, after Makoto’s already told him it wasn’t going to happen. _What does Rin know?_ he asks himself. Makoto has been with him his whole life, and if he’d ever felt something like that, he would have _said_ \--

“I mean… yeah,” Makoto whispers.

Haru’s breath catches. He looks up. “What?”

“I do--feel that way,” Makoto says. His voice is thick, and his eyes are downcast. “I thought you knew that by now.”

Haru’s mind goes completely blank. He can’t even remember what he’s supposed to be feeling. _Makoto loves me_. It doesn’t make sense.

“Haru--”

“Then why did you say those things?” Haru blurts. “Why did you say we couldn’t be together?”

Makoto is staring at him with a fearful expression. “Haru…”

“You thought I couldn’t feel the same way?”

Makoto goes completely still, then, and Haru can see the answer flicker across his face. Yes. That’s exactly what Makoto thought.

Without warning, a hot, angry feeling surges up in Haru’s chest. “Why does everyone think I don’t have feelings?” he demands. “Rei, Nagisa, Rin--even you.” He knows somewhere in his heart that he’s not being fair to any of them. But the idea that all of this could have been because Makoto just _assumed_ …

“I know you have feelings, Haru,” Makoto whispers. His eyes are exceptionally wide and still. “Of course I know that.”

“Then _why?_ ”

Makoto is still staring at him with his mouth open, like he can’t figure out what’s going on. “Haru…”

“You could have asked me,” Haru says, hoarsely.

Something in Makoto’s face changes, then. He blinks. “I thought…” He takes a tiny step forward. “I just thought… you didn’t feel like _that_.” He takes another step, and then his gaze falls. “About me,” he finishes, barely whispering.

“I kissed you,” Haru points out. “A lot.”

Makoto’s cheeks turn red. “That’s not _love_. You just said--it felt good.”

“You said so, too.” Suddenly Haru feels like he could cry, because if he’s wrong, if this feeling that’s been making him sick all month still isn’t right, isn’t _enough_ , he doesn’t know what else he can possibly give. “I thought that was the only thing missing,” he manages to say, around the lump in his throat. “I already wanted the rest.”

Even at this distance, he hears Makoto’s breathing falter. “The rest?”

“I don’t want you to be with anyone else,” Haru whispers. “I thought… everything would be fine if you could just stay with me.”

Makoto is stepping closer to him now, carefully, like he’s afraid Haru will run away if he moves too fast. “Is that really what you want?”

Haru nods quickly. Of _course_ it is.

“And--you’re not just saying that because--because it’s what I want?” Makoto asks. His hand reaches out toward Haru’s arm, trembling.

Haru startles when Makoto’s hand brushes against his bare skin, and he gives Makoto a small frown. “I didn’t know you wanted it,” he says. He looks away. “I’ve been really sad.”

Makoto lets out a small, choked sound, like he’s caught between laughter and tears. “ _Haru_.”

They’re close enough now he can feel the warmth of Makoto’s skin, and it’s making him start to feel dizzy. But the knot of anxiety in his chest hasn’t come undone, and it feels like he’s using the last breath of air in his lungs when he looks up into Makoto’s eyes and asks, “Is that enough?”

Makoto leans in and answers him with a kiss.

 _Oh_ , Haru thinks, and reaches up to bury his good hand in Makoto’s hair as he kisses Makoto back with everything he has.

“Haru,” Makoto murmurs, a few minutes later, after they’ve pressed themselves into a corner of the room, and all of the tension in Haru’s body has melted into pure heat. “Wait, _Haru_.” Haru is busy trying to unbutton Makoto’s shirt with one hand while he explores the skin of Makoto’s neck with his mouth, but Makoto finally stops gasping in pleasure long enough to push him gently away. “Haru… what happened here?” He carefully lifts Haru’s right arm up and winces in sympathy as he examines Haru’s hand.

“It’s okay,” Haru murmurs. “It’ll get better.”

“Does it hurt?”

Haru shakes his head.

“Did you have to go to the hospital? Was it--”

But Haru has finally unworked the last, resistant button of Makoto’s shirt, and Makoto’s touch is so gentle that it isn’t a struggle at all to pull away and silence him with a kiss. “Later,” he insists, and he thinks the way Makoto moans softly and kisses him again means that he accepts it.

 

*

 

 _Later_ turns out to be well past noon the next day, after Haru has finally given up on his effort to find every sensitive spot on Makoto’s body in the space of a single morning, and they’ve both made some significant headway on making up for lost time.

“You should have told me about this,” Makoto says, lifting his head from Haru’s chest to brush an impossibly light kiss onto Haru’s wounded knuckles. “I would have canceled my flight.”

“It’s not like it’s that bad,” Haru says, half-heartedly. He feels too lazy to argue; all he wants to do is lie here and run his fingers through Makoto’s hair, maybe forever.

“I still could have taken care of you…”

“You were barely even talking to me.”

Makoto’s face falls into a pained expression. “I’m sorry, Haru,” he says, for what feels like the hundredth time. “I shouldn’t have acted like that. If I’d just--”

“You already said all that,” Haru interrupts, feeling guilty for starting them down this path of conversation again. He moves his fingers down to get in the way of Makoto’s lips. “You should stop.”

Makoto laughs and pokes his tongue out to swipe at Haru’s fingertips. “Alright, alright.” He sighs and curls his arm around Haru’s side. “I guess it all worked out, huh?”

“Mm,” Haru agrees. He splays his hand out onto Makoto’s shoulders to tug him even closer and wraps his leg around Makoto’s knees, and Makoto laughs, seeming to recognize the possessive gesture for what it is.

“ _Haru_ ,” he sighs. “We do still have to make other friends, you know.”

“Oh,” Haru says, remembering. “I think… I sort of did that.”

“You did?”

“Some guys on the team started helping me out,” he explains. “After I got hurt.”

“Oh, yeah?” Makoto smiles, happily at first, and then with a teasing edge. “Helping you out, huh? Does that mean it’s my turn to be jealous?”

Haru pouts. “No.”

“Are you sure, Haru-chan?” Makoto grins and plants a kiss in the middle of his chest. “Isn’t tending to your every need my responsibility now?”

“No.”

“Did they cook and clean for you? I could do that.”

“They just drove me around,” Haru mumbles, but Makoto has already given up his teasing, and he scoots up on the bed to kiss Haru’s cheek.

“That’s great, Haru,” he murmurs. “I’m glad.”

Haru burrows his face into the curve of Makoto’s neck and just breathes for a minute, relaxing in the familiar comfort of Makoto’s scent. “You can still cook for me if you want,” he says, eventually, thinking with some wistfulness about the bowl of soup that’s still sitting on his desk at home. “I didn’t eat dinner last night.”

“Haru--!” Makoto sits up in alarm. “Aren’t you hungry? Why didn’t you say something?”

Haru shrugs. “This was better.”

“ _Haru_.” Makoto climbs over Haru’s legs to get out of the bed. “I have some food here, but--you know I can’t actually cook.”

“That’s okay,” Haru says, and rolls over to lie in the warm spot Makoto left behind. He hides a smile in the sheets as he watches Makoto get dressed. “We can do it together.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

_Epilogue - one month later_

 

“You guys didn’t have to come here for this. It’s not that big a deal.”

“It’s a national competition, Haru-chan! Of course it’s a big deal!”

Haru looks away, and Nagisa harrumphs at him.

“Just because it’s not the _Olympics_ …”

Makoto smiles and brushes something that might be imaginary off of Haru’s jacket. “We’re glad to see both of you, anyhow.”

“It’s been too long,” Rei agrees.

“Yeah, not to mention that things have _changed_ ,” Nagisa says, looking meaningfully at where Makoto’s hand is still lingering on Haru’s shoulder. He pouts. “I _still_ can’t believe you guys didn’t tell us right away.”

“It was only, like, a week!” Makoto protests.

“We _helped_ you. Or--I mean. We tried to?”

“We were busy,” Haru says, because he’s heard this argument too many times already, and this is the easiest way to end it.

“ _Haru_.” Makoto starts to turn red.

“With homework,” Haru says mildly, and waits for Nagisa to grin and open his mouth before he adds, “and sex.”

Makoto sputters and devolves into a fit of coughing, distracting both Nagisa and Rei long enough for Haru to scan the crowd and spot where his teammates are gathering.

There’s an announcement over the loudspeaker, then, and Haru tugs on Makoto’s sleeve. “I have to go.”

Makoto finally catches his breath and turns to him with a smile. “Okay, Haru.” He reaches down and picks up Haru’s right hand, rubbing his thumb over Haru’s knuckles in a gesture that’s become familiar since the bandages finally came off. “Go do your best out there.”

“I will.”

Makoto presses his lips to the back of Haru’s hand and murmurs, “I’ll be here when you’re done.”

He can hear Nagisa stifling a pleased giggle and Rei trying to shush him, but he doesn’t care; he just stands still for a moment and lets Makoto’s eyes fill him with warmth. He leans up and gives Makoto a kiss before he walks away, and he smiles at the way it makes Makoto blush.

Ten minutes later, he’s standing with his team under the shade of an awning, squinting as he tries to find Makoto in the stands.

“Nanase,” his coach calls. “You’re up.”

“Hey, save some strength for the relay,” Sano tells him. “We’re counting on you.”

“Don’t tell him that! Haru, go out there and win.”

Haru nods as he steps out into the beating sun. “I’ll do my best.”

The whistle blows, and Haru climbs onto his block. The glare makes it hard to see anything, and he’s about to resign himself to just _knowing_ that Makoto is watching him, because it’s not like there’s any doubt--but when he spots Makoto’s proud, smiling face at the last second before he takes his mark, it’s exactly what he needs.

 _Makoto will be waiting for me_ , he thinks. The starting signal sounds, and he pushes off. _Always_.

 

_=end=_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the end! I would love to hear what you think in the comments. :) I can also be reached at cerasi-nalamine.tumblr.com or on twitter @cerasi_n if you'd like to exclaim over makoharu with me there. I’m always tempted to write additional codas to my own fics, so if you have any ideas, I would be happy to hear them!
> 
> The official fest post is [here](http://theofficialmakoharufestival.tumblr.com/post/113504054115/username-cerasi-nalamine-beta-none-round) if you want to vote for this submission. :)
> 
> (P.S. I couldn't fit Rin into the epilogue, but he found out way sooner than Rei and Nagisa because he emailed Haru the next day to be like "so did you guys make up or what???” ^_^)
> 
> Thanks again for reading!


End file.
